Harry's 18th
by skinnyrita
Summary: Harry stands alone at his 18th birthday party, surrounded by the faceless people who admire him. One person who truly knows him emerges from the forgotten shadows. They have a gift he might actually appreciate tonight. HPDM. Oneshot.


_This story was written as an 18th Birthday present for one of my readers back when I was still writing One Night Out on Good Behaviour. I found it again today and feel that suffcient time has passed to pass the story on to everyone else. I'm sure they won't mind. _

_This is HP/DM slash, and I think quite tender, on reflection. _

_Disclaimer: HP, not mine!_

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Harry's 18th

_A gift, from skinnyrita._

To own the truth, he had never actually completely expected to reach his eighteenth birthday, let alone be celebrating it in such style. Harry's gaze travelled for the hundredth time over the beautifully set up hall. The Great Hall of Hogwarts, to be exact. It felt strange to be back here in the middle of the summer, but McGonagall's offer had been so kind that of course he had agreed to let Hogwarts host his birthday, no holds barred. There were hundreds of people here. Hundreds. He recognised less than half of the faces, and he knew by name the scantest of handfuls. Not that it mattered, he was still having fun with the people he did know, but meeting and greeting the never-ending stream of nameless, faceless people, was becoming exhausting and the night was not anywhere near to ending.

Magical Weasley fireworks were exploding near the ceiling, bathing the crowded dance floor in flashes of red, green, blue, gold, and showering them in glitter confetti. Harry stared at the people enjoying themselves, a pensive smile flitting across his face. He wasn't naïve enough to think that all these people were here to wish him his many happy returns. No, these people were celebrating something much bigger than him. This time last year, the threat of Voldemort's takeover was a far too near reality. But now, four months after his defeat, right here in the Great Hall, they were free, and they wanted, they deserved, to be celebratory for as long as possible, and to be able to see and touch that 'chosen one' who had made such a thing possible. His gaze searched the twirling bodies and sought out Ron and Hermione, who seemed to be welded at the lips.

He was very happy for them, and even happier now that he didn't have to be subjected to their constant harping about each other. However, he was now standing alone at his own birthday party, in a lull between shaking hands with random strangers, and that was very slightly depressing. He sighed and turned towards the main doors. At least this was a good opportunity to seek a loo break. He grabbed an alcoholic-looking drink off a passing tray and snuck out before anyone could spot him leaving and try to accost him.

Outside the doors the noise of the pulsing party was suddenly diminished. He leant against a cool stone wall for a moment, eyes shut, blinding bringing the glass to his lips and taking a sip. Whatever he'd picked up burned his throat kindly on the way down, and he sampled a larger gulp, savouring it. He opened his eyes and noted a few clumps of people further up the main stairs, talking amongst themselves, and hastily avoided them by hurrying into the nearest gents. Once inside, he shut himself in a stall and sat on the edge of the toilet, staring at the door. This place, he now realised, was the last place he wanted to be, and this party, which seemed so kind, and was being thrown in perfectly good faith, now looked like nothing more than some twisted publicity parade. The people he'd really wanted to celebrate his eighteenth birthday with; Sirius, Lupin… they had gone forever, and the others, well, he saw them so often, what did it matter that today was his birthday, really? And yes, it had been truly sweet of McGonagall, but when would he normally celebrate his birthday with teachers? In fact, the more he thought over that evening, the less sense it seemed to make. He took a deep breath and downed the rest of his drink, before resting the glass on the cistern and standing up to take a piss.

He shuffled out to wash his hands and as he was drying them his eye was drawn to a flash of light in the mirror.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Thanking his better judgement for not getting tanked and impairing his reflexes, Harry's wand was at the pale throat in less than a second, the tip pressing into the curve of white skin before it met high collar. A rush of warm, familiar adrenaline wakened his senses and left his body tingling. He'd always had this effect on him. An effect he revelled in – it was almost enjoyable. The flush of fear and also desire, for the fight, brushing over the taller boy's cheekbones. At the lack of response, he backed him against the sinks. His own reflection, eyes alive with the thrill of the capture. He looked better than he had done all day, even when the Weasleys had thrown him a very spectacular birthday brunch that morning. "You can't possibly be on the guest list. One more time: What the _fuck_ are you _doing_ here?"

Malfoy hadn't pulled a wand on him. That was new. He didn't know what it meant, but it was new. A brand new game.

Eventually he spoke. "I… Happy Birthday."

Harry blinked at the hoarse voice. Malfoy was avoiding his gaze, staring somewhere in the region of his left shoulder. "What're you playing at, Malfoy?"

Malfoy blinked a few times and rubbed his lips together. Harry's brows drew together, and his wand dropped a little. Unfortunately, that meant that he was now pointing it directly at the blond's heart. Malfoy recoiled a little more into the dip between two sinks, before blurting out, "I have a gift for you. Please… don't…"

"Oh Merlin, Malfoy I'm not going to kill you at my sodding party. Just tell me what the hell you want so you can leave and I can go back to shaking hands with strange people."

Malfoy's lip curled. It never ceased to amaze Harry just how quickly the blond could go from snivelling wretch to suave, predatory, and in no way unworthy opponent, within milliseconds. The sight of that curled lip never failed to spark some sort of fighting spirit within his chest, as if it lay dormant in stasis to flare up for this one unique person. "Don't you have any real friends at this 'little' gathering, Potter?"

Harry grinned. "What do you want, you snake?"

Malfoy grinned back at him. Something squirmed in Harry's stomach. Something he usually kept dormant. "Only to give you your gift," he drawled, quietly.

"Accio wand."

Malfoy smirked again and even released a small chuckle as Harry pocketed the Hawthorn wand he had actually returned to him only a few months ago. "Wow, how stealthy of you to retrieve the wand I so secretly stowed in my back pocket." Harry sucked in one side of his cheek, irritated by the tone, and slipped his own wand back up his sleeve.

"What is this gift?"

Malfoy smiled again, and it was infuriating. "Something you want."

"Every single one of those people in that hall brought me a gift, why on earth would yours be the one I might really 'want'?"

Malfoy gave him an impish look. "Maybe you should have invited people who actually know you." Harry glanced down, his smile fading. There was a hand on his waist, and it was not as cold as it looked. "I know you," Malfoy stated. Harry sucked a breath in and stepped backwards, fast.

"What the fuck do you want," he growled.

Malfoy pushed away from the sinks. His lips were parted to allow him easier breathing through his own adrenaline rush, and his face and neck was flushed with an excited rose. "I've already told you. I have something to give you. But not here. I left it in the Come and Go room."

"That room burned down."

"The room of Hidden Things burned down. I assure you, the room exists. Where do you think I've been whilst you shook hands with the entire Ministry of Magic and world's press?"

"You're deranged if you think that I'm going anywhere with you."

"Why not? You have my wand, and you can't honestly tell me you'd rather return to that hall of random elderly people who want to photograph you for your fame and association, and hang out with teachers, on your birthday, in the school you have already graduated from, with friends who have nothing better to do than snog all day long in front of you, with a family that isn't even your real one, with all of this shitty, shitty _farce_!" Malfoy ended on an almost shouting level, right in Harry's face, breathing heavily. His hands shot out and grasped Harry by the lapels of his dress robes, and for a moment they remained suspended, glaring into each other's eyes.

With a jerk, Malfoy pulled Harry right against him and planted what could only be described as a desperate and almost painful… kiss, right onto his surprised lips, which gasped open only to encounter a twisting and very determined tongue. With a 'murf!' of shock, Harry wrenched himself away by pressing hard against Malfoy's shoulders, although he only managed to get far enough to draw his lips away. Malfoy's hold on his waist tightened quickly, preventing him from running anywhere.

"What -?"

"Um," Malfoy's eyes were so wide that they were taking up half his face. "Um."

Harry had never, ever, known Malfoy to stammer; he almost looked as though he might cry. It was surreal, and yet, perversely, the most real thing that had happened to Harry all night. Also, despite all the times they had fought, he was quite certain that he had never been quite this close to the blond before –or perhaps he just didn't remember. Malfoy actually was very, very attractive. In an obvious way, yes, but that didn't make the fact any less true. A shiver of recklessness he hadn't felt since Voldemort's defeat, coursed through him. He leaned up, and pressed his mouth to the blonde's.

Malfoy uttered a strange mewl of surprise and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, reintroducing his tongue to him. The kiss was surprisingly sensual (now that it was consensual), and Malfoy moaned again, breaking the kiss briefly, and his large eyes glimmered into Harry's, as if the brunette might suddenly break, or hex him, and tilted his chin carefully, as though it was made of china, and met his lips again, slipping his tongue between them to curl around the answering velvety wetness as Harry's hand pushed unexpectedly into his soft hair. He gingerly moved his free hand from the birthday boy's waist, up his chest, infuriatingly covered with the rather nice but totally cumbersome dress robes. He settled for rubbing the pad of his thumb over his Adam's Apple, producing a rather lovely, throaty moan from the brunette he was attempting to seduce.

Harry pulled away again, breathing unevenly. "This is my… gift?"

To his surprise, Malfoy laughed. "No, I seriously do have a present for you in the Room of Requirement, and believe it or not, it's not me."

"Thank God."

"Oh, thanks Potter," Malfoy flushed, visibly hurt. A few voices passing the toilets made them jump, and suddenly aware of where they were. It was a miracle that no one had walked in on them yet, and the entire building was swarming with press, aurors, and a hundred plus of other people who would probably not take too well to the presence of Draco Malfoy, let alone in the arms of the man of the moment. "Are you going to come with me, or go in there and listen to people making embarrassing toasts about you?"

"For once, I believe I might have a better time out of the party."

Malfoy grinned and stepped away from him, putting his hood up to mask his telltale hair. Harry echoed his actions, vaguely attempting to obscure his face – he didn't want to be recognised as the ungrateful brat running away from his own birthday party… even though that was effectively what he was doing. He grabbed Malfoy's hand and pulled him out into the entrance hall.

Draco glanced down at Harry's hand joined with his, surprised. He knew that it was probably a reflexive, unconscious action on Harry's part, but it was still unexpected, exciting and …warm. He couldn't understand whether Harry had kissed him back because he was drunk, because he wanted to, or because he had simply been there, but that was already a lot more reciprocation than he had ever anticipated (as he had actually anticipated… well, nothing). He hadn't planned to kiss Harry, but he was glad he had. Maybe coming here hadn't been a total mistake after all, despite how recklessly dangerous it was to have done so with so many people about who he was pretty certain wouldn't take too kindly to his presence. They were jogging down towards the dungeons now, the Room of Requirement up a staircase coming up on their left, and down an otherwise empty corridor from there. His stomach twisted in a large knot, as he tried to imagine what Harry's reaction would be to his present – he would either adore it, or he would think he was making fun of him and chuck his amicable intentions back in his face.

Outside the Come and Go room, Harry finally dropped Draco's hand – he hadn't really realised he had still been holding it, and flushed under his hood. The blond glanced at him before slipping into the room and leaving him in the corridor alone for a moment. He stared at the large doors and pushed his hood off his face, smoothing his new dress robes down. His wand slipped down his sleeve and he checked it unconsciously, because no matter how strange an encounter he was having, he wasn't far gone enough to throw all caution to the wind when it came to Malfoy – it was unlikely that the room beyond was the new residence of the root of all evil, but given his track record it couldn't be completely ruled out, so it was best to be prepared. He checked the location of Malfoy's wand in case he was looking for an outlet for viciousness. He instantly felt a little wave of guilt, but didn't have time to analyse himself as Malfoy's head poked out of the door again; looking strangely excited and beckoned him into the room.

He stumbled.

They had just walked onto… the quidditch pitch. But not the quidditch pitch, because they were still inside the castle. Harry had no idea that the Room of Requirement was capable of producing such an enormous space. The grass under his feet seemed real, the goal posts and pitch markings were perfectly proportioned in scale to the original Hogwarts pitch, and the 'sky' above really did mirror the darkness and spattering of stars above the castle right now, although the boys themselves were bathed in the glow of the floodlights illuminating the pitch. Two ordinary school brooms were leaning against the wall he had just passed through. It was a situation he only ever associated with Seeking, and from that, Malfoy.

"What do you think?"

Harry turned, unable to ease his eyes from their widened expression. "How did you -?"

Malfoy shut the door and made towards him. "Clever room, isn't it?"

"Why, why are you doing this?" Harry swallowed, staring at him. "Why now?"

Malfoy half turned from him, raking a hand through sensuous white gold locks. Harry's eye trained on it compulsively. The kiss they had shared in the bathroom had confused him but also excited him, and a thought flashed through his mind that maybe this was a seduction of sorts – _why_ Malfoy would do that, however…

"War's over. I thought, I-" Harry's hand appeared on his arm and Draco turned. "Harry," he blinked, the use of Potter's first name had been unintentional. "Harry," he said again, tasting it, "I don't want us to… stop."

"You're doing this because you're not leaving me alone, not done with me yet?" Harry was nonplussed. Had this entire encounter been some sort of strange practical joke, a last prank? "You're sick!"

"Wait, please-" Draco grabbed his arms, losing his footing and stumbling into him. "You saved my life. Why did you do it if you didn't care? I know you, Potter, I know everything there is to know about you, better than anyone else. Don't you know me?"

Harry blinked. He did know Malfoy. Very well, in fact, maybe even too well. He was… the most important person in his life. Fuck, what did that mean? "I really do have a gift for you," Malfoy was saying. His hand went into an inner pocket of his robes, and Harry tensed reflexively before remembering that he was currently in the possession of both their wands. The pale hand re-emerged wrapped around a spherical object, which he pressed into Harry's awaiting palm.

It was a snitch. A gold snitch with silver wings trimmed with electric blue and tiny emerald tips, and engraved on one side. He tilted it towards the light so that the artificial glow illuminated the etching: "_To a worthy opponent. DM_." He glanced at Malfoy, but he wasn't looking at him, rather the snitch, and on an impulse he let it go. They regarded the little ball suspended between them for a moment, before it zipped over their heads and into the freedom of the simulated sky. They watched it flit about for a while. Harry felt a hand come to rest lightly on his waist, and despite himself he realised he was leaning back into Malfoy's shoulder. Had he always associated quidditch and Malfoy with sex in this way, or was that a new development?

The merest hint of a lick to the lobe of his ear, and then a husky murmur: "Shall we play?"

"Hmm." The brooms sailed lazily towards them as Malfoy shrugged out of his cloak and Harry pulled his dress robes over his head and laid them carefully on a handy bench, leaving him in his dress shirt and black trousers. He caught Malfoy eyeing his outfit appreciatively and felt a pleased flutter envelop his body; a warm sensation that slowly filled him from scalp to toes, and it was lovely. They mounted their brooms and circled each other lazily. Harry didn't think he had ever likened flying so much to sex and seduction, and slow sensation. They were both looking for the snitch, albeit half-heartedly, but their eyes were for each other, and it was quiet, silent even, in the quidditch room that Malfoy had created. That he had created for him, because he knew that it was something that Harry would truly appreciate, and it was perfect on so many levels that it could only show up the party still pulsing downstairs as more of a farce than ever.

Harry's hand shot out and closed. He had caught the snitch. He blinked and looked at his hand. He had not caught the snitch. He had caught Malfoy's hand, which had caught the snitch. They stared at it, suspended. Malfoy had never, ever caught the snitch before him, not even a split second like this. His face had broken into a shocked grin, and it made Harry smile in turn. He flew against him, one hand on the snitch and one on Malfoy's broom. "Good game," he kissed him, and somehow they ended up on the grass, brooms rolling away from under them and the snitch fluttered off back towards the stars as the floodlights dimmed to bathe a tangle of limbs on green grass in a soothing bronzed light.

Harry rolled Malfoy under him and mouthed wetly at the apex of his chin before licking into his mouth, evoking some thrillingly unrestrained whines of pleasure as the blond curled a leg around his own. One of his hands braced him on the grass as the other teased the tails of Malfoy's shirt gently from his trousers so that trembling fingers could stroke over hot pale hipbones. Malfoy kissed with his teeth, his tongue, lips, even his nose as it nudged sensuously against his own, and all the while expelling those fantastic groans and sighs of passion.

Eventually they broke apart, shaking with the intensity of their revelations. They lay shoulder to shoulder in the cool grass, staring up at the skies above; the floodlights had totally dimmed away. "I should make an appearance downstairs. It'd look really bad of me not to turn up for the end." Harry turned his head towards Malfoy. "I'll come back though, if you want."

He nodded mutely.

When Harry returned an hour or so later, he found the room unchanged, and the blond still lying in the grass. "The sun should be up soon," he said, softly. Harry knelt down beside him. Malfoy gazed up at him with an unreadable expression. With one hand he reached up and lazily popped a few buttons on the brunette's shirt, enough so that he could slide a cool hand inside and trace the soft skin and trail of hair on Harry's stomach. Harry fiddled with the blonde's shirt, silently, only when it was open all the way did he part it gently and lower his mouth to a blushing nipple, lips sealing around it and tongue swirling to tease. Malfoy panted quietly and pushed his fingers into his hair, massaging the scalp firmly. Breaking away momentarily, Harry manoeuvred the rest of his own shirt over his head one-handed, the other searching for Malfoy's fly. Liquid desire had trickled down through his chest and stomach and was pooling in his groin, and he _wanted_, he _wanted_ Malfoy, more than anything, and he felt so stupid for not figuring that out before. And for once in his life, Harry was determined to get something he wanted on his birthday.

He bit the ridge of Malfoy's hip bone and rubbed his cheek against the hollow there, his soft black hair stroking softly against more sensitive areas of the blonde's anatomy, and Malfoy was almost sobbing above him, so he looked up into his face, and no one had ever looked at him with such desire before, so dark and smouldering, and yet he saw something innocent in Malfoy that took his breath away. He crawled up to face him, realising that although the sky was still above them, it was in fact a bed that they were lying on, and he smiled inwardly in the knowledge that the room would provide anything they needed to render this night faultless. He kissed the blond carefully.

"Do you trust me, Malfoy?"

More nodding.

"Is this what you want?"

Nodding again: "Yes."

"You know, you are the only man in the world that I would ever do this with."

And a little while later, as Malfoy cried out in virginity, the tendons of his neck standing out in pleasure and pain, gripping his shoulders, and Harry gently bringing them to the crescendo, the sun rose in a blaze of orange light and gilded their writhing bodies as they trembled together; holding on. Harry lay with the spent blond enveloped in his arms, soothing him in the aftermath, and reflected: for his eighteenth year, he had finally had a _very_ good birthday.

THE END

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Happy Birthday, from skinnyrita. 


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